The Bait
by XL Nozes
Summary: "Temptation, lust, desire ... something of the sort?", He instigated her. Hermione continued to nod, his scent urging her to throw herself into his arms, demanding that he do very, very dirty things with her. Alert, Mature content.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The story is mine, the characters not.  
Alert! Mature content.

Although I read well in English, writing and speaking are a lot of effort. This is one of my attempts to be a disciplined person and train my weaknesses.

Enjoy it!

* * *

 **-o-  
The Bait  
by XL Nozes  
-o-**

* * *

The girl lying on the floor of the house squirmed in front of the flash of light coming towards her. She bent, pulling her back from the floor, her limbs stiff and her eyes open, almost terrified.  
"Will this work?", a man asked watching the scene. The girl's body convulsed and laid, motionless, on the floor. A pink mist circled her and the girl sucked in breaths, as if she was suffocating.  
"Let's hope so," said a second, older, male voice. "This is our last alternative."  
"Everything is ready?", he asked, looking suspiciously at the limp body in the middle of the room."  
"It's all we could do. The rest is her responsibility."  
The mist faded gradually, completely inspired by the young woman as the two men watched her work.

 **-o-**

She moved slowly, feeling the sand from the ground pressed against her right cheek. Her eyelids lifted and the world began to spin. She blinked once, then twice, three times, trying to get things into focus. The green mass on the extreme left side took shape until it turned into treetops, the brown just below it was distinguished in trunks. Hermione Granger doubled over, feeling her abdomen burn in a strange pain to her - as if it did not really hurt her. With one hand resting against the nearby trees, she rose to her feet, her knees trembling, insisting that she stay on the ground. She narrowed her eyes trying to focus her mind on what she needed to do. A hand tightened on her right temple as she struggled to organize her own thoughts. It was not common to see Miss Granger unable to distinguish a line of thought. She took a deep breath, and in the fog that covered her mind, she could find what they had been insistently saying.  
She had to find the Dark Lord, Voldemort. She had to find him soon.  
Her legs were trembling, and her footsteps were almost desperate as she crawled into the woods.  
The plan did not seem particularly bad, she just wasn't too happy to have been chosen as the bait. She suppressed a groan, her hand tightening the cloth over her belly. She took a deep breath twice before finding the strength to go wandering. The Dark Lord should be around here somewhere. She just needed to find him and everything would go its way. She just needed to find him...  
She swallowed a sob. She did not know how long she had wandered through the trees, seeking him, but he should have appeared by now. He should have followed her scent, found her.  
She fell back against the trunk, cowering between the roots. Her legs were sore and the heat that covered her belly was enough to make her skin itch. She slipped a hand through her hair, irritating herself as her fingers clutched at the knots. Maybe ... Maybe she should look for a river. Yeah, a river. There she could get rid of the heat that consumed her, which prevented her from thinking rationally. She rose, trembling, and strained her ears to the sound of water. She heard nothing that could guide her. In fact, she heard nothing but the anguished groans within her own head. A groan escaped her and Hermione raised a hand to her forehead, feeling feverish. Her skin was beginning to accumulate with sweat, and the urge to brush against her thighs increased every moment.  
She took a hesitant step, her knee weakening at the weight. She wouldn't, she knew she wouldn't make it. Her fingerprints clawed against the bark of a tree as she sought something to keep her on her feet. Her body fell dead on the floor as the world spun. She took a deep breath, but the air seemed to keep her lungs empty and to dry her tongue. She wanted to... She exhaled, shrinking, her fingers pressing the skin on her belly. The vision dimmed gradually, the edges turning gray, evolving into black, and then Hermione lost consciousness.

 **-o-**

There was something cool and wet on her forehead, and the girl let out a sigh of eagerness, almost relieved. Her spine curved, pulling her body away from the floor, and her knuckles turned white as she closed her hands, her knees brushing against each other. "Awake?", came a definitely masculine voice over her.  
She bit her lip to hold a moan and control the urge to jump on anyone else. Hermione raised her eyelids slowly and found a pair of green eyes so deep that the air in her lungs died out. His scent began to make a winding path into her nostrils, a musky mixture of wood and rain. The two emeralds have moved away, and the girl could see him better - the aristocratic nose crowned by a pair of round glasses, square and firm jaw, lips darker than skin, thick eyebrows, black hair on the top of his head.  
Merlin, she was in trouble.  
This was definitely not the Dark Lord and she was really in trouble.  
Whatever they had done to her had put their hormones into frenzy and the only coherent thought that could make the way through their hazy mind to their consciousness was that he was not the right man.  
"Are you better?", he asked in a baritone voice that made her body tighten.  
The male hand slowly climbed toward the towel in front of her, however, in the desperation not to make it possible to destroy the mission, Hermione struggled back, ignoring the way her skin crawled over the leaves and branches.  
"Miss?", he asked uncertainly, his hand curling.  
"Just do not touch me. No... do not touch me", she murmured, her eyes tightly shut, as she tried to rise. She staggered back, her shoulder slapping against a nearby tree and avoiding a fall.  
"You should not be standing", he stood up as well, but kept the distance she insisted on imposing.  
"I must go," the girl stammered, moving around the tree. Soon she was moving forward, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other.  
"You do not look well", he argued, following her from afar.  
Hermione shook her head, persuading herself to move away from him as fast as her uncoordinated legs allowed. His scent drew her close, and her hormones demanded that she respond to the request. She wanted so bad to grab him and do things that would make her neighbors scandalized!  
"Leave me alone!", she breathed. She felt sweat pour from her forehead to her chin and the idea of throwing it all away and ignoring her responsibilities seemed more and more tempting.  
She was only more comfortable when she stopped listening to the footsteps behind her.

 **-o-**

Her legs failed and the girl fell hard on the floor, her knees sore and scratched. Merlin, she could not stand it any longer. If she did not find him, she would soon have to take the problem into my own hands. She was a modern girl and could do that. She felt the taste of blood dance on her tongue, the result of biting her lip so hard. She kept on crawling. There was no guarantee that the pressure she felt within herself would not worsen after what she was considering doing. She needed a river. A very cold river.  
Her body spasmed and the girl found herself pressed against the half-rotted leaves, her arms wrapped around her belly. Oh, Merlin. Just... Just... Her right hand slid over the tight, her mind filled with images of the dark haired man who had tried to help her. She almost regretted letting him go. Her fingers gripped the hem of her skirt and began to pull it up. She just needed... She shook her head. No, that was not the point. What she really needed was to find the Dark Lord, period.

Her body tightened and she let a whimper escape. It was time for Plan B, the river. She lowered her eyelids and tried to concentrate on the sound of the water. She was surprised to realize that she could actually hear it. She must have been so distracted by her own perverted thoughts that she hadn't noticed before.

She crawled, stumbling, toward the sound source. Falling into the water without worrying about clothes or temperature. The cold covered her sweaty skin, refreshing her mind and putting her thoughts in order - the heat in her belly just a memory. She laid down, floating with the current.

She did not believe that she had spent so many hours wandering without finding the Dark Lord. The forest was his territory, right? Hence he attacked the villagers who insisted into entering the woods - arresting them or killing them. The forces that had been sent to get rid of him had failed - he was a wizard who refused to follow the laws of men. That's why they needed to destroy him.

She almost felt like a bitch with the plan the elders and counselors had drawn up.

It was nothing more than a couple of spells thought out by the village advisors - the few men who were born with the gift of magic - that should make any living thing with a Y chromosome want to bed her (or, instead of a bed, a table could be used, or a wall, or the floor). So far the plan did not seem particularly ingenious. However, they had cast a spell that should bind her life to the life of the first man to accept her, making them dependent on each other.

The final part of the plan involved her death and, consequently, his death, but that should not be thought of now.

She exhaled. It was not as if she was happy to walk into a trap that ended with the extinction of her own life, but for Hermione Granger life worked in a very practical and rational way. Someone had to prevent Voldemort from continuing to kill people, which had not happened in more than twenty years of troops sent with this exact purpose, and if that was the only way, Miss Granger would not hesitate to do what was right. Besides, it was not like anyone was going to miss her.

 **-o-**

Her eyes, wide open, watched the sky as she was carried. The temperature was no longer enough, and the girl was frustrated that she had not gotten the Lord from wherever he hide. She submerged, hoping it would keep her rational enough to come up with a plan to find him. She didn't feel hungry or thirsty. She felt nothing besides the urge to search for the first available male specimen and... seize it.  
When she emerged, opening her eyes after running her hand over her face, a house entered her field of vision.  
That could only be the Dark Lord's residence.  
It was much less Gothic and much more Victorian than anyone could have expected.  
She crawled out of the stream, feeling her legs tremble. She sucked in, anxious and fearful at the same time. If all went right, the relief was only ten feet away. With that thought, her hazy mind and tense limbs took her.  
The knuckles of her fingers tapped against the light wood of the door, and she leaned heavily against the eaves that surrounded the porch, the muscles of her tights contracted, rubbing over and over again. A tight groan, particularly similar to a yelp, escaped her throat as that pair of ridiculously green eyes appeared after the door opened.  
"How can I help you?"  
Ow, damn it. His voice was serious and every time the air passed over his lips it was as if heat waves were enveloping her. She bit her lower lip, managing to ask a ridiculous question as her only intention involved that bit of bad road between his legs.  
"The ... Dark Lord?", she said in a trembling, panting voice. Her knees weakened and Hermione clutched the wood more tightly.  
"It's me, how can I help you?"  
The world collapsed and the girl went with it, falling on the floor.  
"I told you you were not well," he insisted, kneeling beside her, not touching her.  
Now, beside him, knowing that this was the man she sought, her whole body seemed to be on fire. She felt so hot, so deep that the urge to crawl out of her own skin made her suck in the air. Her fingers gripped the wet cloth over her tights desperately, pulling it all over. Her crotch was damp, and no matter how she pressed her hips against the ground, nothing seemed to ease the despair.  
"And ... u …", she gasped, without being able to coordinate her vocal chords.  
"They put a terrible spell on you, didn't they?", he asked in a friendly tone that made her desperate.  
They should have put a spell on her, one that would keep any man from resisting. However, the boy in front of her did not seem particularly intent on grabbing her anytime soon. Her affliction was mounting. She rubbed her hips one more time, her desperation almost bordering on tears. She nodded, unable to respond.  
"Temptation, lust, desire ... something of similar?", he instigated her.  
Hermione continued to shake her head, his scent urging her to throw herself into his arms, demanding that he do very, very naughty things with her.  
"I can make a potion. It should take a few days, but it would get rid of anything they did."  
At the mention of the days, her brown eyes jumped. No! She had ... had to seduce him. That was the plan!  
Denying, she used her trembling, desperate fingers to pull him by the collar, bringing his mouth toward hers. His lips were not particularly soft or bulky. They were thin and there was a small piece of loose skin on the right commissure, but that did not matter. He was surprised by the impact, his mouth opening softly into a small "o". Hermione did not miss the opportunity to deepen the kiss.  
He felt the warmth of her soft tongue and let out a quick, short moan as one of her hands gripped the masculine hair and pulled his head back, leaning over him. The boy allowed the woman's tongue to wander through his mouth in surprise. Hermione did not know what woke him, but soon he returned the kiss with the same abandon.  
Something was growing between them, something warm, unsatisfied, and increasing in intensity. And she was choking on it. She pushed him to the floor, pressing her body against his muscles. The Lord was trying to murmur now, trying to pull away, but that was what she needed, what she came here to do.  
His hands finally came to life, gently pushing her shoulders. He could not breathe. The man made a small sound, lost in the darkness of her feminine mouth. Both Hermione's hands held his face now - harder and brutal. He moaned around her tongue, things that were fragmented into the female despair.  
Then his fingers tangled in her hair beneath her head, and finally pulled her away.  
They both gasped, blushing and Hermione insisted on pressing their bodies together.  
"Is it this? Is this what you need?", he stammered, and she responded by touching his lips again.  
He smiled against her mouth, as if he were a child and she was a pot of sweets and so everything was acceptable. One of his arms circled her at the waist while the other was used as a support to rise.  
Hermione enveloped him with her limbs, clinging to him as the man carried her into the house, the door slamming past them. They didn't reach far beyond the room, where he slowly fell to lay her on a rug. The girl moved, without even considering that it might be uncomfortable. She could think of nothing but the masculine lips on her throat. Oh, God, she thought. He kissed her neck, coming down. She stood up slowly, resting her hands behind him, wanting to feel more of him. The Lord laughed against her skin. Hermione shivered, using one hand to pull his shirt.

"Hm?", the man murmured, still between kisses, approaching her breasts.

The girl tugged at the fabric, wet because of her, more insistently.

He pulled away and Hermione could see him smile. Slowly, he removed the light-colored shirt. She gasped, the heat burned her interior mercilessly. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his pale, husky chest. Hermione watched the body in front of her, the contrast of the dark trousers with the marble skin, the line of the male hips that disappeared under the fabric to places she had never seen. She could see the hairs descending toward the male crotch and wished to kiss the path they formed.

Her mind could not conceive anything beyond what they were about to do, her brain was just a pulsating mass that instigated her to do very, very bad things with him.  
Taking advantage of the distance between the bodies, she tugged at the wide blouse of raw material she wore before returning to kiss him with renewed ferocity. The Lord traced a low path, following her breasts. So, having reached them, he stopped and the girl groaned in disappointment. He bit her skin just over her left breast and she moaned, feeling the moisture build up again. Then he bent, tracing the feminine side with his lips.

"Oh, God," she sobbed. No one had touched her that way, and the result went straight to her center.

His lips moved up to her toes, and the only thing she could think was that he should be sucking her nipples. He sucked and nibbled on her skin of her stomach and the girl shuddered at the feel of his hair against her breasts.

Hermione laced him with her legs and pulled him to her. The force and angle made her lie down again. She was about to pull his head to herself when his hands went up to her skirt until he gathered it around her waist. He bit her a few inches from her swollen lips and Hermione tightened her legs around him, trying to control the scream that was gathering in her chest. He continued, kissing the line that separated her leg from her center, nibbling and licking, making her tremble. Her fingers tightened on the soft fabric of the carpet, trying to keep the little control she still had.

She was burning from the inside out and the Lord had not even touched her in the places she was about to beg him to explore.

The girl felt slippery with her own juices, but even that did not seem enough to arouse the shame that must have been hidden and fogged in some part of her mind. The Lord bit down on the top of her right thigh and the female legs parted, her brown eyes opened by the surprise that the pleasure associated with the pain brought her. She looked down and saw the impossibly green orbs watching her intently. Hermione had no idea what he was seeing, but the look he wore made her inside tighten in anticipation.

He grunted deep in his throat, moving closer to her center, as if to take her in his mouth, his eyes didn't leave the brown ones. Hermione dropped, not daring to watch him while he was wearing that mask of hunger.

She was on the edge, her mind begging him to touch her, to end the agony. She felt the air that the man exuded tickling in her tight and moaned. Then, suddenly, a small, fresh gust was blown over her sensitive, moist, inflamed skin, and all her thoughts were gone.

His hands found the dark strands of her - soft between his fingers - and she pulled him toward her mouth. When she had him in the places she wanted - wedged between her lips - she ran her palms across his chest, finally outlining it. It was suffocating and addictive, but the only thing Hermione could do was run a path of kisses and licks from his neck to his chest.

She heard him moan softly and his rough fingers stopped the work of her hands, holding her by the fists.

"No, no. If we want to do what I have in mind, this is not helping."

"Please," she gasped at his pectoral, cool against her flushed cheek. God, what was wrong with her?

"'Please'"?

"Please touch me."

It was a shock to both of them how coordinated her speech had been. The emerald eyes narrowed and he lay flat on her, kissing her deeply. However, she wanted more. The feminine hips went against him, her fingernails clawing at the robust back.

The Lord took control of her hands again, holding them against the ground and over their heads.

"We have to control ourselves."  
Hermione wanted to think what he meant by this phrase, but her thoughts were much more carnal and far less philosophical at the moment. She struggled a little, wanting herself free, but her fight was futile when, unintentionally, her tight hit the volume inside his pants. He was hard against her, separated only by the thin fabric. That made her squeeze more against him. He pushed her hips down with his own, pinning her to the floor. Hermione arched her spine and groaned, feeling the effects of the whole walk on her tired and aching muscles.

She wanted more of him.

Finally, male lips made their way to her breasts, taking a stiff nipple in her mouth. The girl moaned. He moved to the other dark-skinned peak and kissed it, rolling it with his tongue. If Hermione had found her thoughts messy and tangled before, the feel of his hot, wet mouth against her was enough to make her think she was crazy.

Gradually his hands released her, making the way over her body, getting rid of the skirt that was still accumulated, wet, around her waist. Her legs were pulled back and Hermione was breathing rapidly, not knowing whether it was anticipation or nervousness.

He slid a finger between her folds and, suddenly, she felt no more fear, just need. He circled her clit, teasing her, and she could not bear it, begging him to continue. The Lord pushed his finger inside her wet entrance, and Hermione screamed. The pleasure was indescribable. He watched her as the girl arched her back, completely in control. He needed to make her reach the climax with only his fingers, even if he wanted to sink into it. He would explore her, take care of everything, and solve the little problem the girl had with spells.

He was pumping her with his fingers, slippery with her juices. The Lord could feel how close she was. He noticed, as he watched her flushed face, how innocent he was. There had to be an explanation for the whole situation, he just had to find it. With that in mind, he straightened his movements, sliding a second finger into the channel. She was so tight she barely let him in and the men could feel her twitching around him.

Hermione gasped as his finger slipped in and out. She had never imagined feeling anything like it. It was a blessing. She did not know if there was any sensation that could equate the pleasure she felt at the moment, as if every nerve ending in her body was on fire. Then she felt him slipping the second finger and hissed from the pain. She could feel his pressure straining and filling her. He pumped faster, deeper, while she gasped in pain. But there was something erotic about it. The more he retracted and reentered her, the more pleasure he accumulated.

"Mh, oh,", she groaned incoherently.

Then the Lord stopped, his fingers still deep inside her. His thumb worked her swollen clit and her mind saw nothing but color, her eyes closed as she moved her hips. He pushed her back, tapping his finger against the buildup of nerves, and suddenly the orgasm was there. Everything seemed to explode and she was screaming, her hips moving uncontrollably, but he did not stop. As the climax struck her, he drew his fingers from her, slippery, and circled her clit. The female body exploded in a new wave of pleasure.

"God, oooooooh, oh, god."

The female hands were out of control, one clawed at his back, another gripped the rug. The Lord continued to work on her clit and it was almost too much pleasure. He entered the convulsive center again, harder, and she no longer knew what was up and what was down. The movements continued and Hermione did not know whether to keep her legs apart or close them with almost asphyxiating pleasure. The fingers came in one last time, hitting the right spot, making her arch with pleasure before releasing her as the Lord swallowed her moans with a kiss.

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 **-o-**

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Constructive reviews are always welcome.  
See y'all,

Aunt Nozes


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** The story is mine, the characters are not.

Alert! Mature content.

Enjoy it!

* * *

 **-o-**

 **The bait**

 **by XL Nozes**

 **-o-**

* * *

Her fingers felt heavy and her skin, warm. With effort, she moved her right arm to the left side, trying to turn around. Her throat worked trying to swallow, but there was not enough saliva. The fabric beneath her buttocks was soft and warm. It seemed very inviting. Her eyelids struggled to lift and expose her brown eyes.

"Are you awake?"

What had happened came running like a set of flashes in sequence. The heat, the sweat, the bodies glued together.

She buried her face against the rug with a grunt.

"We did ... Did we ... did we?", the question was stupid, but necessary. If they had not, hm, copulated, the spell they had placed on her would be useless.

"Not in the way you're thinking."

He moved to stand directly in front of her, sitting down on the couch. Hermione watched his fingers hide beneath the dark fabric. She felt defeated. If she could think clearly, that meant the spell was no longer working, right? It meant that the only active spell was the one that made the feet of her life span run faster.

She exhaled, unable to deal with the man she was supposed to be killing.

"I thought we could talk now."

Her forehead pressed against the rug as she thought. There was not much to lose now, was there?

With all her remaining dignity, she bent her right leg to rise. Only the lack of containment of the fabric that would usually disturb her made her remember that she was practically naked. Her movements froze, only her eyeballs moved, trying to locate the piece of unhappy cloth. Right beside him lay her skirt. Crushed and damp. She sat up as one hand pulled the sides of her shirt to close it and the other palmed the floor. Her attempt only ended so quickly because the boy understood her actions and reached for her skirt before anything else, handing it to her.

Hermione's already pink cheeks seemed to catch fire as the embarrassment of the situation escalated progressively with the difficulty of replacing a wet skirt.

The Dark Lord stared at the window calmly, as if there was no half-naked girl struggling on his living room rug.

"Ready to talk?"

Her frown was an indication that no, she was not ready to talk, but there was no other choice.

She sat in the armchair perpendicular to him, ignoring the dampness of her clothes.

"You want to start by telling me how you came here?", his tone was gentle and grave and made points of her body contract.

"No".

There was a small moment of silence before he spoke again:

"I'll try to guess, and you may correct me, alright?"

She breathed in, staring at the window.

"At age eleven, twelve, your house was attacked by the Dark Lord. You were raised by a set of special people, with magical powers, from the village. They have been protecting the village for many years. Very traditional families that dedicate exclusively to this duty."

Without anything to argue, Hermione remained silent.

"There are few living like you, all with similar stories. The Dark Lord has a very specific taste. He has put a curse on you all, but the elders have a ritual that reduces the effect. You work for the families of the elders, and in return, once a week they give you a potion and take away the "spoiled blood.""

Her scrutiny went from the dark of the trees to the vivid greens of his eyes.

"You did not live in our village. Does news travel so far?"

He wiggled, looking at her intently. Then she leaned back against the couch.

"No, but the story is the same in several of the villages that surround the forest. Even mine. I do not want to prolong this conversation, because we have only a short time before the spell is back in effect."

"Has the spell not ended?", she interrupted, her body jumping forward, her eyelids high.

"No, I could not get it out alone, I'd need help or a potion. But it takes a few days to get it ready."

"So what is it? Why don't I feel the effects?"

"Desire reduces after an injection of pleasure. It will return progressively."

"But I could keep up with shots of pleasure until the potion's ready, right?"

The Lord looked into her eyes for a moment before denying.

"For a day, perhaps; every time the spell will come stronger. It's more probable for you to go crazy before I finish the potion. Anyway, we would still have the other two spells to deal with."

Hermione pursed her lips, forgetting for a moment.

"Can't you slow down their action?"

"I could postpone death for a maximum of two hours."

Her outraged curls swayed as she stood up.

"Where are you going?", his response was quick and a little breathless as he stood up with her.

"You're telling me there's nothing to do. I intend to go to the forest to hope that some animal will kill me or that the spell will take effect and soon I will go mad. Thank you for your attention."

The speech would have had more effect if her skirt had not stopped her hurried steps toward the door and if the Lord had not been faster than herself and had held her by her arm, making her body turn like a door, banging against the back of the couch, facing him. The warmth of his hand vibrated, piling up before exploding, running up her arm. She pulled away as if she had been burned.

"Shit!", he cursed, pulling his arm away. "Sorry, I think we'll have less time now. I did not say there's nothing to do, I just said the things I can't do."

Her fingers tightened on the sofa as her knees came together. The Lord watched her wide-eyed, not knowing what to do.

"I do not have the strength alone, but maybe you could help me."

She nodded, keeping the focus on his voice.

"They have chosen you for a reason, you have a dense magical core. I've only seen such a nucleus once in all my life."

Her confused face was the reason he tried explaining again.

"I do not have time to explain the whole story. What I can say is that I feel the magic coming from you, if your story is like mine, as soon as you stop with the potions of the elders and the sangrias, your powers will explode. Here" - his hand turned to scrape her belly button - "I can feel your strength pulsing. It feels like it will come out soon."

She could also feel something pulsating inside her, in the same rhythm as his warmth pulsed for her, at the trot of his heartbeat.

"I propose that we use this force of yours to potentiate their binding spell, letting compulsion follow its course. Only the death spell will last for us to resolve. Alone, I can't dissipate it, but with a strong connection to another magical core, especially one so dense, I can get it out of you and divert it back."

His removal made her realize that the heat she felt was no longer the male fingerprints, but something generated within herself. Her nipples brushed gently against her shirt, her thighs tightening and making wet little noises between her legs.

"I can add some things to their bonding spell, make it stronger. We could get rid of this situation without either being dead."

Her knuckles went white from holding the fabric. Her brown orbs fixed on his lips, trying to understand something in his words beyond the seductive breath that asked her to kiss him.

"But the death spell would work because the binding spell would tie our lives-"

"Yes." He looked her straight in the eyes as he answered. Her hesitation kept him going. "It would only mean that we would live together and that I could teach you everything that was hidden from you about magic. We do not have to be anything but housemates."

Throughout the speech, Hermione had made a point of keeping her concentration on his face, trying to understand his motives despite the blurred feeling that started in the corners of her mind, if there was a possibility that he was trying to use her as the elders had done. His expression was too open and confused.

"What is your intention?"

His eyes faltered before focusing on her again.

"I do not want to be alone here ..."

"Other villages?"

"All under influence of the elders, they would know who I am and would not let me live there. I've... ", he swallowed, "tried".

Her body leaned forward as the girl pressed her hips against the back of the sofa.

"I really wanted you to make that decision with your head freed from the spell."

She gasped against the sofa, sliding to a sitting position against it.

The Lord came around the furniture and picked her up, laying her on the couch.

"I'll give you an injection of pleasure. As soon as you wake up, I want you to think of the answer to my propo-."

His sentence was not finished, because in seconds Hermione had gathered strength to pull him by the neck and to sink her lips to his. The Lord was more straightforward and quicker this time, sliding two fingers between her legs, steadily entering her. Her hips rose, slamming the top of her mount of Venus against the base of his palm. The boy held her and wrapped his hand around her, finger-tapping inside her against a rougher chunk, making her muscles vibrate with pleasure. With little resistance, he made her lower her hips and then pulled her to him, back towards the floor, and bent himself over her to place his mouth against her heat center.

Small needles of pleasure penetrated her flesh, and Hermione let out a grunt as her arms flapped behind seeking something that could hold her, pin her to the ground. The fingers of her right hand palpated and finally landed on his thigh, where Hermione dug her fingernails and decorated it with little half-moons.

Only then did she realize that her eyelids had dropped. She lifted them with regret, calculating how she would get his mouth back against hers, not quite sure if she wanted him to stop what he was doing. But she needed something pressed against her lips or she would burst into screaming.

The instinct to bite him was stronger than the confusion or the shyness, and soon Hermione pulled his trousers and saw the full cheeks of the stiffer, hotter flesh she had ever encountered. She felt him withdraw from her to breathe in grimly. The male forehead rested on her right thigh, sweat pouring down from his skin to mingle with her juices.

"I need …", he inspired a few times before trying again, "Every time something feels really good, I need you to you enjoy it. Then when it is almost time to explode, stop a little and start again, okay?"

She wanted to say no, that she intended to give herself up the first time the pleasure that began to form in her crotch rose. She managed to shake her head weakly, tapping his tip against the inside of her cheeks and making him gasp.

"It's to make the connection stronger."

The growl she let go was long and trembled against the thin skin of his glans. The male fingers kept a stable back and forth, but his tongue could not, pausing at times. Each time his warm breath approached, Hermione anticipated the contact by pushing her hips against his square jaw. The toes of her feet were ballet tips while she tried to coordinate them with the rough tongue movements that surrounded her swollen lips. His hand gripped her hair and his hips bucked against her face, his head slammed against the back of Hermione's throat and the girl found herself trying to swallow, unable to breath, the breathlessness obscured her vision, the tips of her fingers became numb, her whole body vibrated, his moans, the strength of his hand, pushed that little piece of her body that felt more pleasure against his tongue, so, but so close.

His hips jumped and he let go, settling again to suck her with more vigor. The reestablishment of the air made her limbs flare and her vision return to normal.

Hermione was not sure how long she'd been like this, with him taking her to the edge of the cliff without actually letting her fall. She counted four times that she became almost out of breath - she waited anxiously for these moments. She tried to keep her eyes focused at some point, to control her vision at least, but her eyes kept turning back with noises of pleasure she did not know whether came from her or from him. She felt the pleasure pulsing and exhaling through her pores, the side of her body warming as they brushed against the floor, sweat piling up, running in small crooked lines through the curves of bare bodies, piling up in the skin folds, tempering her lips with a salty taste of pleasure.

Now her two hands held his thighs, bringing him inside her with desire. The tip of her tongue beat against the thin skin just below his glans, running straight toward the base. His fingerprints flashed into the small volume of fluffy flesh and his lips made a pulsing circle that vibrated against her clit. His other hand gripped the back of her neck as he settled his glans against her throat and hoped she would begin to swallow. The tingling sensation took her feet and hands, the edges of her vision darkened, her mouth slowly opening into a smile she controlled so she could suck him again. The set of shocks that his fingers sent with the waves of pleasure that his lips distributed met the sensation on her limbs. Unlike the other times, the Lord did not turn away from her. Her mind began to spin, instinctively she jerked her head away from his hips. The firm male hand held her. The arches of her feet trembled and threw themselves, stretching the female body like a long, tense stick, her thighs holding the long fingers inside her. Whatever was inside her burst through her navel, swallowing what was inside her, her mind whirled around, fading away with the tingling of his fingers, replacing it with a contented weight that swept over her drifting her to sleep.

* * *

 **-o-**

* * *

Author's Notes:  
Constructive reviews are always welcome.

I would like to send a special thanks to ctc1000, pawsrule, werevampluvr and to BratGirl1983, who took their time to send me words of incentive.

The thoughtful ctc1000 posted a review that had a pertinent consideration, so I'll answer it here as well.

I have a preference for non-omniscient narrators. In this case, the whole perspective is Hermione's, and given her conditions to think what is happening, there is not much clarity about who the Dark Lord is. This was intentional :D

See y'all,

Aunt Nuts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The story is mine, the characters not.

Alert! Mature content.

Enjoy it!

* * *

 **-o-**

 **The bait**

 **by XL Nozes**

 **-o-**

* * *

Her fingers felt heavy and her skin, warm. With effort, she moved her right arm to the left side, trying to turn around. Her throat worked trying to swallow, but there was not enough saliva. The fabric beneath her buttocks was soft and warm. Despite this, it seemed very inviting. Her eyelids struggled to stand up and expose her brown eyes.

"Are you awake?"

The feeling of déjà vu came suddenly and accompanied by a panting.

 _'I'll give you an injection of pleasure. As soon as you wake up, I want you to think of the answer to my propos- '_

This time she looked first at her own body. The blouse had stayed in place and the skirt was curled between her knees. It was possible that the Lord had moved her this time, imagining that her reaction would be the same. And he was right.

She located him sitting against an armchair, perpendicular to her, watching her. Imitating his position, she leaned against the couch.

"I know it's an important decision (and I do not want to pressure you), but we're in a bit of a hurry. Do you have any other questions you'd like to ask?"

His voice was so understanding that it irritated her. It would have been so much easier if he had not been kind, if the plan of the elders had worked. She did not want to have to make life decisions in minutes! She wanted to ponder, to plan. Throughout her life the idea that she would have lived for more than twenty years seemed unlikely, and so the future had always been something she had not dealt with directly. She wanted to, wanted so much to plan and think and walk towards some horizon. But...

This was the first major decision she had to make in her entire life. She did not consider accepting to be the casing of the spells a decision of her own - it had been the only option. When there is only one option is because there are no choices to make, right?

But not this, this was all her.

He had been gentle so far, but Hermione knew how many marriages in the village began and how they ended. Loving eyes and stealthy affection until the wife appeared dead, beaten, because her husband had disagreed with something she had done. And the law was on his side.

Was that it? Was she deciding whether to marry him or not? He had said that they needn't be anything more than colleagues, but it was also clear that he was far more powerful than her. Was it safe to enter into a relationship where she was obviously at a disadvantage? Of course not. Was it safer to die? Was her life worth the bet? Winning meant achieving things she had only dreamed of, seen in the books while cleaning the library of the elders. Losing meant a lifetime of torture.

"If we do not touch each other, I estimate that we have at least a half hour before the spell begins to affect your line of thought. I suggest you ask questions now, and while I make something for us to eat, you stand here pondering, without distractions. "

The brown eyes fixed on the man to her left.

Was it worth being honest with him? Could she trust him?

"Would the elders be dead?"

"Not exactly. The spell they put on you reduces life span, and so it is very difficult to dissipate. If I can move it and send it back to them, the spell will dissolve among all of their lives, but will not kill them immediately. "

She had to convince herself to ask what she wanted to know, not questions that would not help her make the decision.

"Do you have a library here?"

"More or less. The library I have here is the one that belonged to the old Lord. What I could see from the books is that they use, basically, black magic. I think I could use them to understand the basic operation and how to counteract or modify them, but only that."

For Merlin, Hermione, concentrate and ask what you want to ask!

"I do not trust you."

It was not that yet, but it was more direct than the others.

He swallowed once before speaking:

"It's understandable. Are there any questions you want to ask that can help with this?"

"You can lie."

For this he had no answer.

"You just told me that you know a lot more about magic than I do, which is easy, since I don't know anything. You know I have nowhere to turn back, this is your home. I know little of the spell that will bond us and depend on the information you decide that is pertinent to me. I do not know how much power I'll have to resist if you're a crazy abuser and I do not know how much power you'll have to subdue me if you're a crazy abuser. After the binding spell, I imagine I'll have nothing to do but stay here, hostage. I can only be sure that you will not kill me, because that would kill you also, but sometimes death is the simplest fate. And if, maybe, exactly this fate, at some point, seem to me the happiest? You would prevent me from reaching it because that would mean the same to fate to you."

The words leaked through her mouth as if there were no teeth and no lips to catch them.

"You're absolutely right."

Hermione inhaled quickly at his statement.

"May you come here with me for a moment?"

She hesitated before getting up and following him. They passed through the kitchen and through a door that led to a small hallway. Then they entered a large, barren room, gray with burnt spots on the wooden floor. Lots of cupboards on all sides and a large empty table. At the back of it, a door. The Lord opened it with a small key.

It looked like a small cabinet, with shelves and shelves of small colored glass.

"I did not produce any of them, they're all from the old lord. I stirred in a few, trying to figure out what they do, with little success. It would be a possible work if I had more patience and if I had used the potion books I found in the library. Those from here, I partially discovered what they do. When I dripped it on some plant, the plant died. They are in order of which was faster. They are yours if you want."

Hermione was silent, watching the flasks. She took one from each and put them in the pocket of her skirt.

"Wait."

He took out a small leather strap wrapped around his neck and, using it, tied all the small flasks in a row before placing it on her neck.

"One more thing. Hold it", he said, carefully placing the piece of metal in her hand being careful not to touch her. He murmured a few words and Hermione felt his hand warm. "Now put the key in the lock and open and close the door."

The girl did as he had told her and looked expectantly.

"Now I can't open this closet anymore.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and handed him the key, challenging him.

The Lord took it between his fingers and passed it to the other hand quickly. He did it over and over as he tried to put the key in the lock. The chestnut-harried-witch could see that in the places where the male skin made contact with the metal appeared a large red spot. It seemed to burn him.

"You can stop," she said, reaching for the key, without touching him, keeping it in her skirt.

He curled his fingers into his palms.

"I do not know what else I can do. I do not want to say what might be empty words, I do not want to make promises. I need you to help me."

Her lips lingered between her teeth as she chewed them ponderously.

"When two magical cores merge, the participants begin to access the magic of the same place. We'd both have the same skills."

"But will I be able to control it? As well as you, I mean."

"I can not say that. What I can say is that I feel that you have a dense and stable nucleus. That the control I feel coming from you is more than the potion and the spell of the elders. You have a natural control over magic, bigger than mine. I do not know how this translates to the actual use of it."

The brown curls danced as she agreed.

"Can you do that door spell in a room for me?"

His eyes opened and a smile joined them:

"Sure, you just have to pick the room. Let's go."

The upstairs was smaller than the bottom floor. He showed her four bedrooms, two of them with bathrooms. He commented that the second room he used take but that he would not mind moving.

Hermione chose the other suite, for convenience. It was easier to ask him to do the spell just in one room than in two. She felt subtly well at being able to make a sudden decision.

The spell was easy, and soon Hermione asked him to do the same with the windows. She did not want him to open them, she didn't know if he could fly.

The Lord did without blinking.

"Do you have any more questions? Any requests?"

She denied in response.

"I'm going downstairs to prepare something to eat. I'll wait for you down there."

That said, he disappeared down the hall.

Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled quickly with her mouth open. She lifted the flasks against her neck. Was there something else? That was as far as her imagination could go at that moment.

She knew she would say yes. She knew from the moment he'd talked about the possibility of her learning, of studying, but the idea of giving herself unrestrained had never been typical of her. Growing up without parents, in the midst of the need to serve to be protected, she had always been reticent.

The answer was yes. But a yes with restrictions, with things that would keep her protected.

A dresser in the corner of the room caught her eye. She untied five of the six glasses of the leather string, put one in the first drawer, one in the second drawer. The third she put under the pillow. Then one on the bedside table and the last one in the bathroom. What remained with her was settled in between her shoulders to free her movements.

She remembered seeing more leather ribbons on the nightstand. She picked up one and tied the key, pinning it against her fist.

Alright.

She inhaled and exhaled through her mouth quickly, heading for the scent of food that was beginning to climb the stairs.

The Lord was squatting against the coffee table, and when he saw her, he offered her an embarrassed smile.

"I thought it would be more comfortable here."

The coffee table had two plates of what appeared to be omelette with salad on the side, a glass of light brown liquid, and another with what appeared to be water.

"It's mushroom omelette. I did not know if you had any restrictions. But my personal experience tells me that children brought up in servitude often accept anything that resembles food", his sneering smile reminded her that their stories were quite similar. "I had chamomile tea already cold. And brought water for you to choose. I did not know...", seeing he was babbling, he stopped talking. Sitting in the armchair and leaving the sofa's ample space for her. Hermione walked down the last few steps and accepted the discreet invitation.

Hermione did not know him, but assumed that this behavior was the result of nervousness. Her natural mistrust did not grow calmer with this information.

"I... From what the books say, the connection has a mental nature."

Her face jumped up and she stared at him, reconsidering the decision.

"It's possible you can feel what I'm feeling, maybe even hear some things. It is blockable, apparently. I do not know if that helps decide."

"Oh." She watched him for a moment. Having access to his thoughts could make things easier. Or more upsetting. "It's all right."

"Time is running out. Do you want to decide now? Want to eat first?". His fingers were pressed against the knees of his pants, his body leaning forward. In the distance, Hermione could see small red spots on the sides of her fingers, especially on the thumbs - the burn marks from the keys.

"I've already decided. We can eat before, "she said, taking the plate and the cutlery.

She fought for a few moments trying to slice the omelette just with her fork, before giving in to the custom of sitting on the floor, using the coffee table for support. The first piece fell on her tongue, sending little dots of pleasure from her mouth to her stomach.

"That's the best food I've ever eaten," she murmured, realizing how hungry she was feeling. What was her last meal? The spell left her notion of time so disturbed she could not remember.

"Um ... I used to stay in the kitchen when I worked for the elders. Until they decided to train me."

How bad could someone who had a story similar to hers have become?

"How do you get food?"

"Hm, it has a spell that allows bodies transportation. I move to a village, buy what I need and come back. I planted a garden in the back of the house. And there are fruits in the forest. Sometimes I trad them."

Ela noded.

"And what is this?", she asked, pointing to a globe on the ceiling.

"It's a receptacle of energy. It is made with glass, metal and wood. It is possible to concentrate magic on it and it glows for a few hours. There are some of these around the house."

"Hm."

Her lack of questions made the silence linger. She watched him move from the corner of her eye, placing himself in a position similar to hers. His plate almost untouched while Hermione was halfway through her omelet.

"Does ... does that mean you plan to stay?"

Hermione looked into his eyes. They were amazingly open. Not innocent, but available. Without need to walk on circles, she replied:

"Yes."

His eyes remained the same, but his lips tightened, rising from the right side. Then he began to eat.

"So…"

He looked expectantly.

"What is your name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter."

She nodded a few times.

"I'm Hermione Granger."

And so, for the first time, she felt more than just an orphan.


End file.
